Heart and Home
by catharticone
Summary: In the sequel to "Heart of the Storm," Rose and her Doctor wait for the birth of their daughter.
1. Chapter 1

* * *

_**Disclaimer: **__"Doctor Who" is the property of the BBC, and I'm simply borrowing… No infringement is intended_.

_**Author's Note:**__ This is a sequel to "Heart of the Storm." Many readers seemed anxious for a continuation of that story, so here is a little taste of my next offering. Subsequent chapters won't appear for at least a week, but I promise that I'm working on them now! (11/03/08)_

_**It appears that this did not post properly yesterday, so I am trying again! I apologize for any confusion (**11/04/08**)**  
_

_**_

Candles lit the small room, casting flickering shadows over Rose and the Doctor. Her head rested against his shoulder, her thick, glossy hair tickling the delicate skin beneath his collar bone. He smiled at the sensation then dipped his hands into the water to scoop up the lightly scented bath oil. He rubbed it gently over her swollen belly, and she sighed in appreciation.

She was nestled between his legs in the large bathtub with her hands resting over his bent knees. One long, slender foot rubbed lazily against the back of her thigh. She spread her fingers over his knees and traced figures against the tops of his shinbones.

"Adoration," he said, sensing the motions and reading the symbol kinesthetically. "You remembered."

"'Course I did," she replied. "I'm going to teach her this one as soon as she's able to read."

"She's _my_ daughter," he responded cheekily, "so that'll probably be in just a few months."

"Think she'll need to be born first."

His fingers splayed over her stomach. The baby shifted slightly, and his palm pressed gently against his daughter's little nudge. "I've been thinking, Rose."

"Uh oh. We're in trouble now." She turned her head to kiss his damp shoulder.

Undeterred by her affectionate teasing, he continued, "I want to take you to London. We can stay with your mum and Pete 'til the baby's born."

"You want to deliver her there?"

He nodded. "I've contacted London Royal Hospital. They'll give me privileges—"

"But what about Cumberland Hospital?" Rose asked, recalling the pleasant feel of the area's nearest hospital. "I thought we'd decided to go to Whithaven. You felt comfortable with their facilities."

"I know, but I'd rather err on the side of caution."

She knew he was thinking about that terrible night five weeks ago when she'd gone out in the gale to assist their elderly neighbor. No one could have predicted the microburst that exploded just outside Mrs. Hudson's house. Rose had barely dragged the unconscious woman into the safety of a closet when a massive branch barreled through the wall. Through some quirk of cosmic compassion, neither Rose nor the baby had been seriously hurt, but the experience had shaken the Doctor considerably. He'd been solicitous to the point of cloying for days afterward, but she thought he'd gotten past it. For the last three weeks they'd walked on the beach, finished papering and painting the nursery, and enjoyed the last bit of time they'd share as a family of two.

"Is something worrying you?" she asked, her own concern growing. "You said my blood pressure was all right, an' the scan last week was fine. Wasn't it?"

"Yes." He smoothed his hand over her hair to calm his wife's growing anxiety. "It's nothing specific. I just want to be sure that everything goes smoothly, and London Royal's much better equipped than West Cumberland."

"But Maggie was gonna come an' assist." Rose was quite fond of their neighbor, a retired nurse who still occasionally helped the Doctor.

"I know, and I'd have liked that. I know you would have, too. But this way your mum can be there—"

"Pete's gonna send her in the helicopter," Rose reminded him.

"Right. But if the weather's bad she might not make it in time."

Rose knew that he was right; he usually was. But somehow facing the noise, pollution, and crowds of London felt wrong just now. The quiet of the seaside, the warmth of the villagers, and the tranquility of their pretty little cottage were all she wanted for her and their daughter.

"We can come back here within the week," he told her as though he'd read her thoughts.

"Yeah, suppose so."

His right hand trailed down her shoulder to trace the outline of her heavy breast. "I really think this is for the best, Rose. For both of you."

She nodded. "'Course."

He slid his left hand up to join his right in soft caresses. He was trying to distract her; she knew that. But what a lovely distraction it was. She surrendered herself to his talented hands and skilled mouth and saved further discussion for another time.

**

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

Rose woke to the smell of French toast. Her stomach grumbled in anticipation as she hauled herself out of bed and into the bathroom. Through the window she saw that the sky was grey and cloudy, and the tile beneath her feet was quite cool. She wrapped herself in a dressing gown and slid on a pair of slippers then padded down the hall to the kitchen.

She found the Doctor standing at the stove, a spatula in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other. He had the _London Times_ sent by post each week and saved the crossword for Sunday mornings.

"Ort. Ha!" he murmured.

"Mornin'," she greeted.

He looked up over his glasses, a smile spreading across his face. "Sleep well?" His smile became rather smug, and she knew he was remembering their extended evening activities.

"Like a stone—except for those two times when I had to get up to pee."

He set down the spatula and the paper so that he could spread his hands over her belly. "How's my little one doing today?" he asked, closing his eyes for a moment.

"She's pretty quiet at the moment, but I think that French toast'll wake her up."

Rose's stomach growled loudly right on cue. The Doctor motioned to a chair then turned back to the stove. She sank down and lifted his mug to take a sip of tea. The baby shifted a bit.

"All right?" the Doctor asked, seeing her changing expression as he set a plate before her.

She nodded and immediately tucked into the delicious meal. He'd sautéed apples with a dash of cinnamon and cloves and spooned a generous portion of the fruit over the rich, egg-dipped toast. She was famished, but as usual she felt uncomfortably full after finishing less than half of the plate. When the Doctor was with her, she tried to eat as much as she possibly could; he worried that she wasn't consuming enough calories as it was. But she simply could not fit another bite into the tiny space between the baby and her ribcage.

"Can't you have a little more?" he queried.

"Maybe later?"

Crossword forgotten for the moment, he reached for her hand. "Once she drops, you'll feel more comfortable. Things won't seem as tight in there."

"But that won't be for what, another three or four weeks, right?"

"Right."

"Suppose we'll be in London by then."

"Yep. I was thinking we should leave on the fifteenth."

"But I'm not due 'til the thirtieth."

"I know, Rose, but think how nice it'll be to be in London before Christmas. You can help your mum and Tony decorate their tree and hang stockings, and…" He paused to think for a moment. "And all those other holiday traditions you lot love so much."

"We were gonna be there for Christmas Eve anyway. I was sort of looking forward to seein' the holiday lanterns and holly here. Maggie says it's beautiful, an' it seems to get better every year. They're doin' that performance with handbells in the chapel on the twenty-first."

He squeezed her hand gently. "We'll catch it next year—all three of us."

She knew she would not win this minor battle. Indeed, she wasn't sure she wanted to. There was a sense of relief in the Doctor's demeanor; there had been since he'd told her of his new plan last night. A small burden seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders. So Rose placed her hand over his and nodded.

"Mum's gonna be really excited."

The Doctor rolled his eyes in good-natured exasperation. "That she is."

**

Rose scrolled down the page one final time, ensuring that she had, figuratively, dutifully dotted every _i_ and carefully crossed each_ t_. The Torchwood bureaucracy was ridiculously fussy about such things, and she wanted to be certain that the Doctor's latest report would be accepted without question.

When they had moved to Durryvale, he had taken over the practice left by Dr. Reice's death. The long-time physician had succumbed to the effects of the alien artifact that had brought Rose and the Doctor to the picturesque village initially. Local inhabitants had fallen seriously ill for years, creating something like a cancer cluster. The artifact had been removed, of course, but the long-term damage to cells was harder to expunge. The Doctor had decided to tackle the problem, assisted by crates of equipment and chemicals from Torchwood.

In exchange, he had agreed to submit periodic reports about the diseases and the treatments he created in the lab he'd built beneath his office. This was the second such report he had written. Rose had volunteered to read through each with the critical eye of a seasoned Torchwood employee.

Since moving to Durryvale, the Doctor had treated two new cases related to the artifact. Unlike previous victims, however, the teenager and middle-aged man were recovering, thanks to the advanced drugs their new doctor had provided. He'd been able to treat several others with long-standing health issues successfully, too. Rose knew that he was pleased with that aspect of his work; he truly had saved these patients' lives.

The more mundane cases brought him satisfaction, too. She'd watched his face many times as he'd set a broken bone or smoothed soothing gel over a rash. Each small act that assuaged pain or brought relief left him just a bit lighter.

She often imagined the joy that would illuminate his entire countenance when he held their newborn daughter in his arms. Surely that would erase all of the niggling worries he'd endured during her pregnancy. And if delivering their child in London, in a hospital with state-of-the-art facilities rather than in a small, country clinic would make him happy, then it was what she wanted, too.

Rose was drawn from her musings by the doorbell. She sent the document to Torchwood with a quick tap of the appropriate key then pushed herself up from her chair. She opened the door to Maggie Atterbury's smiling face and the aroma of freshly baked scones.

Maggie held up a basket. "Lemon," she said.

"Thanks! I'll put the kettle on."

She led the way to the kitchen and busied herself with the tea things for a few moments. When she turned away from the stove, she found her neighbor sitting at the table. Maggie's perpetual energy seemed absent; usually she bustled about, setting out plates and serviettes and often insisting that she wait on Rose.

Still, the older woman's concern remained. "How are you feeling, dear?" she asked.

"Fine. Big as a house, awkward an' full, but aside from that, fine. You all right?"

"Oh, of course. Nothing a nice cuppa and a chat with you won't fix, anyway."

"What's the matter?" Rose asked with concern. Maggie looked rather pale…

"Must be the weather. I've been a bit out of sorts lately."

"Is Angus okay?"

Maggie nodded. "He's fine. He's in Whithaven today, visiting his brother. They were going to golf, but I don't think the weather'll hold much longer…"

"How're the grandchildren?"

"Chelsea's got a new boyfriend—nice young man, she says. He's in a band. She offered to send me a CD, but I think I'll decline, unless you want to hear it."

The tea kettle whistled. With a smile, Rose turned back to the stove to pour the water into the warmed china pot as Maggie continued to speak. After a minute or so, however, her voice trailed off. Rose looked up from the teacups to see the woman's hand hovering over the basket of scones. Her fingers shook.

"Maggie?" Rose walked quickly to the table. "You okay?"

Maggie looked up suddenly then blinked. "Oh! What… what was I saying?"

Rose grasped the trembling hand, finding it very cold. "Tea's ready," she responded.

She set the cup before her neighbor. Maggie reached for it, but her hand jerked slightly, sending the delicate cup crashing to the floor. She stared at it for several seconds before looking up at Rose.

"Something's wrong," she whispered, and her tone was an admission of a long-held secret.

Rose took her arm to help her stand. "Let's go see the Doctor."

Maggie gripped her hand tightly, and Rose suddenly comprehended that the retired nurse needed her support to face the inevitable.

**

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

Rose had offered to call Angus as soon as they got to the Doctor's office, but Maggie had resisted, requesting instead that her favorite neighbor remain at her side as the Doctor examined her. Rose understood that she didn't want to worry her husband until she knew precisely what the problem was.

The Doctor was always kind and calm with his patients, but with Maggie he was even more so. He understood that the woman's own professional knowledge and experience had left her particularly frightened by the many possibilities suggested by her symptoms. He remained positive, however, keeping his words and demeanor encouraging.

He finished by drawing blood. "I'll just run this through the lab and see what's what," he said. "I should have results by the end of the day. Will Angus be home by then?"

Maggie nodded woodenly. "I expect him back for supper."

The Doctor rested a gentle hand upon her shoulder. "I'll drop by around six."

"An' I'll drive you home an' keep you company 'til then," Rose offered.

Maggie blinked back tears. "You're both too good to me."

"Nothing less than you deserve," the Doctor said.

He and Rose left Maggie to compose herself. As soon as they were out of the room, Rose asked, "Do you know what it is? Is it from the artifact?"

"I'm not sure, on either count. But I'll know soon enough." He peered at the vial of blood.

With his sophisticated and partially alien equipment, he had isolated the main illnesses caused by the artifact, developing a series of tests that could identify the primary disease.

He bent to kiss Rose's cheek.

"Best get to it, then," he said. "I'll see you later."

"Doctor." She reached out to grab his departing hand. "You'll be able to cure her, right?"

He hesitated for just an instant, just enough to reveal the truth to her. "I hope so."

Rose felt tears welling in her own eyes. Maggie was more than a neighbor. She'd grown to love the older woman like her own grandmother. She swiped at her eyes then turned back to the exam room with an encouraging smile upon her face.

**

The Doctor's arm was wrapped securely around Rose as they walked back to their house in the evening chill. She felt cold, exhausted, and a little nauseous.

The news had not been good. The artifact had spurred a complex growth in Maggie's spinal column, identifiable through the specific protein it created. Before the Doctor's arrival in Durryvale, the malady would have proven fatal within three months. He'd assured Maggie and Angus that he could treat the illness, but it would be a difficult process for her. She would require daily intravenous medication which would leave her feeling unwell at the very least. Still, the Doctor felt that the treatment would be successful ultimately. Rose knew that he was determined on that point.

"I'll need to start working on the drug first thing tomorrow," he told her as they shuffled along.

She nodded. "'Course."

"And it's going to take some time to synthesize it. Maggie's case is rather unique, so I'm going to have to create the drug specifically for her."

"But it'll work, yeah?"

"Yes."

Perhaps her foot touched a stone or she slipped a bit on the damp walkway. Whatever the cause, Rose stumbled, nearly falling to the ground. The Doctor caught her arm and gently pulled her up.

"All right?" he asked, peering at her closely in the wan glow cast by their porch light.

"Tripped, I think."

"You look pale," he replied, ushering her carefully into the house. Once inside, in the stronger light from the hallway fixture, his gaze quickly appraised her. "When did you last eat? Did you have anything at Maggie's?"

She shook her head. "Didn't even think about it. I made tea, but that's all we had."

He led her to the living room and eased her down onto the couch. His hand pressed over her cheek, his fingers dipping to touch the pulse point in her throat. "You're chilled, Rose. I'm going to heat some soup for you."

After quickly bending to remove her shoes, he spread a blanket over her legs then kissed her forehead. She sat quietly while he prepared the food. She still felt a bit queasy, but maybe that was just hunger. Sometimes with all the weight and pressure it was difficult to discern exactly what sensation she was experiencing.

The Doctor returned bearing a tray with soup, hot cocoa, and half a peanut butter sandwich on wheat bread. He set it on the coffee table then sat down at her side. He handed her the cocoa first.

She took a sip, immediately appreciative of the warmth. It seemed to help settle her stomach, too. When she'd finished half the mug, he nodded at her.

"Your color's a little better," he reported.

"Sorry. It's been a tough day."

His hand closed over hers. "I know. But it's over now, and we're going to have a quiet, restful evening. All right?"

"Yeah."

She managed to eat most of the sandwich and a good portion of the soup. The Doctor watched her, smiling his approval at each bite she took. The baby seemed pleased, too; she delivered several gleeful kicks beneath Rose's ribs.

"Oof," Rose grunted, pressing her hand over the tiny foot. "Think we've got Beckham's successor here."

"Is there a Beckham in this universe?" he replied.

"It's Beckwith."

"Huh. Is he married to Plush Seasoning, then?"

She chuckled and nudged at his thigh with her sock-clad foot. "Funny, you are."

"It's a gift," he responded cheekily.

Their smiles faded, however, as both thought about the world Rose had left behind. She had no regrets; he knew that. But sometimes—rarely, really—she did remember her Earth and the Time Lord who had taken her so far away from it.

His gaze was gentle as he said with simple sincerity, "I'm happy here."

"Me too."

He opened his arms to her. Suddenly she was terribly tired.

"Fancy a bath?" he asked.

"Mmm. Not sure I have the energy for that."

"I can help."

She sighed. "Sorry, but I really don't have the energy for _that_."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "When I say 'help' I mean assist, as in run the soapy sponge over your lovely, soft, glowing skin; maybe spend a bit of time on a back rub; and possibly massage some of that apricot-scented lotion you like so much into those fatigued feet. Unless you're too tired for it?

She leaned limply into his embrace. "Sounds perfect."

"Just what the Doctor ordered." He kissed her crown as his hand found the glorious swell of her belly.

**

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

November at the seaside brought grey, chilly, damp weather on a daily basis. Rose tried to remain cheerful, but the dreary atmosphere dragged at her, leaving her lethargic at best, enervated at worst. She managed to maintain a sunny demeanor during the many hours she spent at Maggie's side, but by the time she returned home, she was utterly drained, both emotionally and physically.

The baby was growing by leaps and bounds, adding weight and pressure to Rose's body. She felt huge and unwieldy. Still, the Doctor seemed to adore the slight waddle that accompanied her steps, as well as the considerable expanse of her belly. He whispered reverent words about her beauty as he lay curled around her at night, and during those few daytime hours when they were together she often found him gazing at her with a sort of awe-struck wonder.

They both appreciated the scant waking hours that they now shared. Maggie's case had proven more challenging than he'd anticipated, requiring considerable time in the lab as he created and tested various formulae in the hopes of finding the best one. In between his pharmaceutical efforts, he juggled an increased patient load. The weather brought colds, influenza, strep, and pneumonia to many of the village's residents. His practice was no longer contained to Durryvale, either. In a smaller-scale imitation of his experience in London, his reputation grew quickly, and after a mere six months in the village he saw a significant increase in patients from the surrounding areas. Some traveled as far as 100 kilometers to see him.

Most mornings he left the house before 6:00, devoting two or three hours to the lab before seeing patients until dusk. Depending upon the results he'd achieved in the early morning, he might spend another hour or three in the lab before finally returning to Rose.

Fortunately he required only three or fours hours of sleep most nights; he greeted each day fresh and alert. Rose, however, now needed ten to twelve hours of slumber with occasional daytime naps, too. This curtailed their time together considerably. Often an hour or two at night was all they could manage.

Occasionally she woke when he got out of bed in the morning, but more frequently she slumbered on. She knew that he checked on her and the baby regularly, but she often slept through his ministrations or experienced them as a sort of hazy dream. Sometimes she felt the soft kiss he'd deliver to her belly or brow, but often she missed it completely.

Still, she understood his devotion to his patients, and to Maggie in particular. She would never begrudge him that. She was filled with surging affection when she watched him attend to their neighbor with all the solicitude that he gave to his wife. For her part, Rose spent many, many hours with Maggie, helping the older woman through the nausea, weakness, dizziness, and malaise that accompanied her treatment. Angus tried to assist, but his nature was not suited to such things, and Maggie often sent him out on errands to relieve him of his perceived care-giver duties. She preferred Rose's efforts, if the truth were told.

**

The November chill yielded to crisp, sunny early December days. Rose felt a bit more energized, a bit less sluggish when she the sun shone upon her face. Several mornings she saw a fine layer of lacy frost covering the low shrubs and rocks. She found the sight beautiful and wondered if by some slim chance they would have a white Christmas.

She realized that their departure to London was looming. Her mum was wildly excited, of course, as were Tony and Pete. They shared enthusiastic plans for holiday parties and baby showers which, it seemed, would begin the moment Rose and the Doctor arrived. Rose felt somewhat less enthusiasm at the prospect of all the hullabaloo.

It was the end of the first week of December when she sank down at Maggie's side with two mugs of tea. Maggie was doing a bit better; the Doctor's latest formulation seemed to approach the cure he sought. He felt that he would find exactly the right combination within the next week or so.

Maggie was clear-eyed today, her severe nausea subsiding to allow her some precious hours of clarity. She took the tea from Rose, her gaze resting upon her young friend's face.

"How are you doing, dear?" she asked.

Rose smiled. "Fine."

Maggie's hand rested gently over Rose's belly. "It'll just be a few weeks now. You should try to get more rest. Angus can take care of whatever I need."

"I don't mind."

"I know, and you've truly been an angel to me. But you need to take care of yourself and the baby now. You're really working too hard. I'm not sure I've ever seen you look so tired."

"I'm all right, Maggie."

"Well, I'm going to speak with that husband of yours and tell him to have a really good look at you. He's spending too much time on others—and I include myself in that. You should be his priority right now."

"He takes good care of me," Rose replied. "But he needs to take care of everyone else, too." She grasped Maggie's hand. "He wants you well. I do, too."

"I know that, and I'm not sure I can ever really express how much I appreciate it. But I won't have it be at your expense." The seasoned nurse eyed her companion critically. "I don't think you've been eating enough."

Rose shrugged. "I get so uncomfortable if I have more than a few bites. I try to eat four or five times a day—"

"Make it seven or eight," Maggie suggested. "Let's start now." She began to push herself up from the sofa, but she remained weak.

"I'll make some sandwiches," Rose said. "Looks like we could both use a snack."

"All right. But then you're going to sit here with me and rest for at least an hour."

"Yes, ma'am," Rose replied with a little quirk of a smile as heaved herself up and shuffled off to the kitchen to prepare the food.

She and Maggie ate quietly and slowly. Rose finished half of her sandwich before setting the plate aside. With a kindly reproving glance, Maggie reached over her, attempting to retrieve the dish. The slight tremor in her hand, however, resulted in the plate clattering to the floor, where it broke into several pieces.

"Oh!" Maggie began to get up, but Rose slid to the floor instead to pick up the shards with careful motions.

She set them on the coffee table one by one. When she was done, she began to push herself up again. However, the room suddenly seemed to tilt, and the lights winked out for an instant. Suddenly Rose found herself on her bum, blinking at Maggie's concerned face.

"Rose! Are you all right?"

"Erm… Yeah, think so."

"I thought you were going to faint. You're white as a sheet. Here, lie back." Maggie set two pillows on the floor then tapped at Rose's shoulder.

Then the older woman reached for the phone, and before Rose quite knew what was happening she heard a rapid accounting of the incident related in a slightly accusatory tone.

Rose huffed tiredly as Maggie hung up. "You didn't need to call him."

"I most certainly did!" Maggie reached for Rose's hand and lifted it to study the nails. "Hmmph. He'll want to know about this."

Rose felt too tired to question the rather cryptic words. Instead she permitted her head to loll back against the pillows, and quite without meaning to, she fell asleep.

**

Vague voices woke her, or perhaps it was the jostling as she was lifted from the floor with strong arms beneath her back and legs. She forced her tired eyes to open and found that light still streamed through the window. She must not have slept for more than a few minutes.

"Hey," Rose croaked, watching the effort reflected in the Doctor's face as he stood.

Her husband looked down at the precious cargo in his arms. "Rose. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine. Just got up too fast."

"Hmm. We'll see," he replied obliquely.

She saw the concern and guilt in his expression. "I was only a little dizzy," she tried to reassure him.

He did not reply. Instead he carried her with swift steps toward the foyer. They passed Maggie, who stood leaning against the living room doorway.

She waggled a finger at him. "A little more time on her and less on me."

He nodded in agreement. "She's got my full attention now."

"_She_ can walk, y'know," Rose offered in as wry a tone as she could muster.

The Doctor chose not to respond to her comment. She didn't mind, really, because she did feel terribly tired, and she wasn't entirely sure that her legs could support her just now. They both bade Maggie good bye, then he transported Rose the short distance to their house.

"I hope you weren't working on anything too critical," Rose said as he walked up the path toward their front door.

"Nothing's more critical than you and the baby," he replied.

She sighed and permitted her head to rest against his shoulder. The air was crisp, but she could feel the late afternoon sun's wan warmth upon her cheek. She closed her eyes. In a few moments they had entered the house. Soon Rose was lying on the bed amid soft pillows. She supposed she could acquiesce to a nap without undue protest.

Her plans were thwarted by the Doctor. He took her wrist to peer closely at her fingers then lowered her hand. Leaning forward, he gently lifted her eyelid.

With a short exhalation, he said, "Damn it. I should've seen this sooner—shouldn't have needed Maggie to tell me."

"What?" Rose questioned, feeling like the last kid on the block to hear about a party.

He threaded his fingers through hers. "Looks like you're a little anemic. It's not uncommon during pregnancy, and it's easily treated, but I should've noticed. I never seem to see you in broad daylight any more…" His tone was regretful.

"'S okay," she replied.

"No, it's not," he rejoined. "This could have been prevented with a little more attention on my part."

"Is it dangerous for the baby?"

"In this early stage? No. But it's left you weak and caused you to faint, and that was entirely avoidable."

"You can't monitor me twenty-four hours a day," she said. "You've got important work to do—"

"But not at the sacrifice of you." He raked a hand through his hair. "I'm going to keep a much closer eye on you from now on, and it's going to start with getting you to the office. I want to give you a good once-over… maybe a twice-over, or even a thrice-over if I feel like it."

His verbal quirks always made her smile. With a little grin she agreed, "Yeah, all right."

Noticing her expression, his own softened. "What's so funny?" he asked.

She attempted to smooth his mussed hair with a soft stroke of her hand. "Nothing. Nothing at all. It's just that I love you."

He caught her wrist gently and kissed her knuckles. She knew that he was counting the pulse beats beneath his fingers, but she didn't mind.

"I love you, too," he said, bending to deliver a tender kiss to her mouth. The sole motivation behind that action was deep, pure affection.

**

_To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

Rose had just finished dressing when the Doctor emerged from the lab beneath his office. True to his word, he had been very thorough in his examination, going well beyond the simple blood work she'd expected. She felt rather certain that his efforts would fall into the "thrice-over" category.

Still, they were both relieved when he'd reported that, aside from the clear signs of anemia, she and the baby were doing relatively well.

"A little more rest'll do you both a world of good," he'd told her. "And I'm going to write out a diet for you that you need to stick with."

He'd been in full physician mode then—well, except for the little caress he'd given her bare thigh a few moments previously.

"Any idea when the big day'll be?" she'd asked.

"Looks like you're right on schedule. I think it'll be at least three weeks, probably more like four, and we'll be in London well before then."

He'd scurried down to his lab to check on the blood analyses then, leaving Rose to her thoughts for a few minutes. Three weeks—possibly four—and she'd be a mum. She rested her hand over her belly, feeling the baby shift a bit. She'd read several books intended for the layperson as well as three of the Doctor's obstetrics texts, so she knew all of the technical details surrounding childbirth. But somehow she hadn't really envisioned herself in the process. Now it was looming in its full reality.

She rubbed her thumb over the little quiver of activity. "Your daddy's gonna take good care of us," she said softly.

"Yes, I am."

She hadn't heard him enter the room. He walked over to her and caressed her cheek gently. His professional expression had softened to a more affectionate one.

"So?" she asked, anxious for the lab results.

"Hematocrit's at 29%."

"Which means?"

"You're definitely a bit anemic." He shook his head. "I probably should've boosted your iron supplements several weeks ago. Regardless, it's treatable, and I'm going to take a slightly aggressive course of action just to be on the safe side."

Rose repeated the word. "Aggressive. What's that mean, exactly?"

"Well, I could give you ferrous sulphate tablets, probably 300 mg, twice per day. But about twenty percent of pregnant women don't absorb iron from a pill form adequately, and I don't want to wait any longer to treat this. So we're going to go with intra-muscular iron dextran injections every other day..."

Rose frowned. She really didn't like the sound of that.

"…starting right now," he finished.

He reached into his pocket for a syringe then nodded toward her waist. "Pants down, Rose."

She snorted. "Any excuse to see my bum!"

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Any excuse to see _any_ part of you."

He helped her up onto the examination couch again and quickly administered the injection. He had a very deft touch, causing only a brief twinge of pain. Rose's reward was another loving caress and a light kiss just above the injection site.

"Mmm. Better than a lolly," she commented.

"Oh, I've got one of those for you, too." He grinned wickedly then gathered her into his arms.

**

The next two weeks passed quickly. Rose's energy began to return; the injections and the new diet seemed to have salubrious effects. The Doctor still worked long hours, but he made a point of returning home daily for lunch or tea.

Rose continued to spend large parts of her days with Maggie. The retired nurse was teaching her how to knit. Well, perhaps 'teaching' wasn't precisely the right word; Rose wasn't the most dedicated pupil, finding the work tedious and often messy. But she enjoyed the time they could spend together, particularly on the days when Maggie was feeling relatively well.

The Doctor's latest formulation was working, apparently, and Maggie's strength was improving gradually. By the middle of the month she was able to walk along the shore with Rose for a few minutes on several pleasant days. The weather, it seemed, was cooperating beautifully: The older woman couldn't recall such a stretch of fine weather in any previous December.

"Not that I'm complaining, mind you," she told Rose as they strolled along the cool, damp sand.

The light exercise was invigorating to both women, it seemed. By the time they returned to Rose's house, they were laughing and rosy-cheeked. Rose showed Maggie the nursery, enjoying the older woman's oohs and aahs at the unique and beautiful symbols traced lovingly by the Doctor's hand all along the upper portion of the wall.

"It's an ancient language," Rose explained rather obliquely.

"Oh, like the symbols they used in cuneiform?"

"A bit."

Maggie shook her head in mild awe. "Is there anything that man doesn't know?"

Rose grinned. "He's a genius, and he'll be the first one to tell you!"

They giggled heartily, and the baby stirred, delivering a solid kick to Rose's side. She blew out a breath and rubbed at the area.

"Is it a contraction?" Maggie asked.

"No, just a kick. She's been pretty active lately."

"Well then, it'll still be a little while. Have you begun effacing or dilating?"

Rose shook her head. "The Doctor checked yesterday. Nothing's goin' on yet."

Maggie considered this information. "You're due on the thirtieth, right?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm. Practice contractions'll probably start up soon. But then again, sometimes they don't. Sometimes everything happens all at once, just like that." She snapped her fingers for emphasis. "When Chelsea was born, Trish's labor lasted only three hours. She'd just been to the doctor two days before, and she wasn't showing any pre-labor signs. So you never know."

"We're leavin' for London on Friday," Rose reminded her. "Suppose we'll get there in plenty of time for the birth."

"We'll all be thinking of you. You tell that husband of yours to call me as soon as the baby's born. Angus and I will want to know right away."

Rose felt tears stinging at her eyes. "Yeah."

Maggie smiled sympathetically then embraced her in a warm hug. "It's just the hormones," she reminded her young friend as Rose sniffled in her arms.

**

Rose awoke before dawn the next morning. The Doctor was still sleeping beside her. He'd been up until three running some simulations on the computer. She only knew because she'd stumbled out of bed in the wee hours to use the bathroom.

Of course she felt that pressing need again and sighed. She sat up in the grey light, her hands automatically moving to her belly. She was still very sleepy and only half-awake, and she didn't realize that something was different until she was on her feet, standing beside the bed.

"Oh!" she gasped.

"Rose?" The Doctor's voice, husky with sleep, drifted over her.

"Are you awake?" she asked.

He must have heard the slight quaver in her tone, because he sat bolt upright and said, "What's the matter?"

"I think," she began, then she reached for the light so that he could see. "Think the baby's dropped."

He scooted forward to run his hands over her belly, then he grinned up at her. "Indeed."

She was still getting accustomed to the new sensation. Suddenly breathing felt so much easier, and she knew she'd be able to assuage the rumbling in her stomach completely. On the other hand, she really, really needed to pee.

"She's engaged now," the Doctor told her, sliding his hands down to cup the underside of her belly.

"But it'll still be a couple of weeks, yeah?"

"Most likely. I'll have another look at you later today, and we'll see if things are progressing at all."

"Yeah. But right now I need…" She gestured toward the bathroom and hurried off as quickly as she could manage.

**

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

Despite the baby's preparation for impending birth, Rose's body seemed determined to delay the inevitable. She didn't mind, really. Their daughter wasn't due for two weeks anyway, and she hadn't really fancied a rushed trip to London. She knew that Pete would gladly send the helicopter, but for weeks she'd been looking forward to the leisurely, scenic drive they'd planned. They intended to spend one night at a charming inn down the coast—one last little romantic interlude before their lives changed irrevocably.

The Doctor thought their daughter's arrival was at least ten days away. That gave them three days to pack for London for their scheduled departure on the fifteenth. They would arrive in the city the following day, allowing several days' leeway before the birth.

On the thirteenth, Rose was surprised by a baby shower at Maggie's house. Friends from all over the village attended, presenting the mother-to-be with lovely gifts ranging from hand-crocheted blankets and booties to a carefully crafted cradle that could be suspended from a branch if Rose wanted to spend time outside with the baby in the spring or summer. Jackie had already told her daughter to expect a car seat, stroller, and other purchased items at the showers planned in London. The Doctor had apparently conveyed this information to Maggie, who had shared it with the Durryvale women.

Rose was immensely touched by the care and effort that went into all of her gifts. Nearly every one was hand-made with her in mind. She found herself swiping at tears for much of the shower.

When she got home, the Doctor was waiting for her with a soft smile and a warm hug.

"Did you have fun?" he asked.

She cuddled into his embrace. "Yeah. It was…" She sniffled unintentionally, and he stroked her hair tenderly. "I can't believe they did all that."

He kissed the top of her head. "They wanted to. Everyone did. I've been answering questions about your favorite color and the decorations in the baby's room for months."

"Sorry. I know that's not your favorite topic—"

He shook his head. "I didn't mind."

"Thank you."

They stood without speaking for a few moments as he cradled her face in his hands. They gazes communicated more than any words could convey. Finally, Rose nodded toward the door.

"Mary Ann and Claire are bringin' the gifts over. They could probably use some help."

He grinned. "That much loot, huh?"

"She's gonna have all the blankets, booties, an' rompers she can use, and then some. And that's not even factoring in all the stuff Mum's got."

"That woman's a menace to the entire shopping industry!"

Rose laughed. "Yeah, she is. But she's really excited—almost more than when she was havin' Tony."

"Just don't mention the word 'grandmum' to her."

"Never!"

Rose's two friends from the library hustled through the open door, their arms full of gifts. The Doctor thanked them then headed to Maggie's house to begin his fatherly duties.

**

Rose spent the fourteenth organizing the nursery. Since the baby had changed position, she felt much more energetic. In fact, she hadn't needed a nap in several days. She was eating more, too, enjoying her food without the uncomfortable fullness she'd experienced for the past few months.

Once the gifts were neatly put away, she packed for the trip to Londoan then began thinking about dinner. This would be the last meal she prepared before their daughter was born, so she decided to make it a bit special.

The weather had remained unseasonably warm, and she was so full of vigor that a walk to the market seemed in order. Rose pulled on a light jumper then strolled toward the center of the village.

She purchased lamb chops from the butcher, spending a little time chatting with acquaintances she passed along the way. Everyone wished her well and told her they were looking forward to seeing her and the baby as soon as they returned from London.

The Christmas committee had begun decorating the village. Pretty holly garlands hung from the lamp posts, and handmade wreaths adorned many doorways. Rose enjoyed the festive feel as she walked along.

She was about halfway home when the wind picked up, sending sudden, icy blasts to pummel her. She lowered her head and pulled her jumper more tightly over her bulging belly as she increased her pace.

By the time she saw the house, the sky had turned grey and the frigid wind was gusting. She was thoroughly chilled as she stepped inside. She lit the fire in the living room then made tea. She spared a few minutes to sit before the cozy blaze sipping from her thick mug, but dinner preparations were calling her.

Rose peeled and diced potatoes then sprinkled them with rosemary and olive oil. She marinated the lamb in a splash of syrah and oil, rubbing minced garlic and a bit of rosemary over the tender meat. After peeling and slicing carrots and placing them in a pan, she set out the honey and ginger.

When the Doctor arrived, she had the table set with china and crystal. A glass of wine sat at his place, and the aroma of freshly baked rolls, roasting potatoes, and lamb mingled enticingly in the air.

Rubbing his hands to dispel the chill, he commented, "Looks like a cold front's coming in." She thought he was going to give a lecture about weather patterns, but instead he sniffed mightily then grinned. "What's all this?"

"I just felt like making a nice meal. Come and sit by the fire for a bit." She grabbed his wine glass then led him to the sofa.

They snuggled together before the warm glow for a few minutes, then Rose finished the last-minute touches before inviting him to the table. Both ate with relish.

"Mmm," he declared around a large mouthful of glazed carrots, "delicious!" He swallowed, then asked, "What brought on all of this?"

"I just thought it'd be nice to have a good meal before we go. Might be our last chance to do this for a long while."

He smiled. "Might be." He reached for her hand. "But I can't wait. I know that everything's going to change, but it's going to be so, so good."

She felt teary-eyed again. "It is."

That night they crawled into bed early, exchanging gentle kisses and caresses for a long time. Rose fell asleep with her head resting on the Doctor's chest, the soft beat of his human heart a comforting echo in her ear.

**

When Rose woke, she thought it was still very early. The Doctor was not in bed, but he often arose before dawn. She blinked and glanced at the clock. It was 9:35. They had planned to leave Durryvale after breakfast and take an unhurried drive to the inn. She wondered why her husband had let her sleep in so late. Her next mental query was about the strange lack of light.

She sat up and pushed the curtain away from the nearest window. The pane was strangely opaque, and the glass was exceptionally cold. She pulled her hand away then got out of bed.

"Doctor?" she called, forgoing the bathroom for a moment in favor of other matters.

He came out of his study just as she entered the hallway. "There you are," he said rather noncommittally, walking toward her.

"Yeah. What's goin' on?" She gestured toward the ceiling.

He sighed. "It's an ice storm. It came in during the night. Road's are going to be closed 'til it stops."

"So no drive along the coast today?"

"No. I'm hoping that we'll be able to leave late tomorrow or the day after at worst. We'll probably need to head directly to London. Looks like the weather's going to be iffy for the next several days, so once we get a break we'll have to take the shortest route."

She nodded in understanding. "At least we're safe and warm in here." She hugged him.

"Can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be."

His hand rubbed softly over her back. "Mmm." Then he sighed. "I'm going to have to go out for a bit. Maggie needs another round of medication today, so I'll run over to the office then take it to her."

"You're gonna have to go out in that?"

"Yep. But I'll bundle up. It shouldn't be too bad."

She looked up at him. "You're not gonna walk?"

"I have to. The roads are completely iced over, and visibility's near zero. Driving's too dangerous."

His office was about two kilometers from the house. It was a pleasant, easy stroll when the weather was fine. But today it sounded like an almost insurmountable chore. Still, she couldn't think of any other options. Maggie's cure was close at hand, and each scheduled dose of medication was critical.

"When're you going?" she asked.

"Pretty soon. I wanted to wait 'til you were up." He took a step back, moving his hands to her shoulders and focusing his gaze upon her face. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine. That is, aside from a really wicked need to pee."

He chuckled. "Get to it, then. And maybe you can put some coffee on? I'm going to need a cup or three when I get back from Maggie's."

**

_To be continued…_


	7. Chapter 7

The Doctor had been gone for less than thirty minutes when Rose felt the sharp twinge just to the left of her hip. She nearly dropped the coffee container onto the floor. She took a breath then pressed her hand over the site of the pain.

It was a practice contraction, of course. Her body was finally getting ready for the birth. She'd read that these contractions could occur several weeks before the actual event, so this seemed right on schedule.

She wondered for a few seconds if she should call the Doctor to tell him. He was probably at his office by now, and he'd be home in an hour or so. She decided to wait. There was no reason to bother him, particularly if he was still out in the storm.

She finished with the coffee, leaving the machine ready to switch on as soon as he returned home. Rose stood for a few moments with her hands over her belly. The baby was quiet today, she realized; she'd been a bit less active yesterday, too. Maybe the weather was affecting her somehow.

Suddenly Rose had an urge to take stock of the diapers and rompers in the nursery. She shuffled down the hall. Another twinge coiled through her abdomen as she reached up onto the shelf above the changing table. This contraction seemed a little more insistent.

She sank down into the rocking chair. It was probably best to get off of her feet for a bit. She sat quietly for ten or fifteen minutes before her bladder bade her to get up. The motion brought a deep ache to her lower back. She rubbed at it as she walked toward the bathroom.

She had nearly reached her destination when she felt the tickling against the inside of her thigh. Rose looked down to see a wet streak staining the fabric of her trouser leg. Damn, she hadn't made it in time. The baby's change in position must be pressing very strong against her bladder and affecting her ability to control it.

She tugged down her trousers and completed her task. She dabbed idly at the dampness on her leg, and then suddenly a thought hit her. The words she'd read in the baby books pattered almost randomly through her mind. She had to focus to make the idea coalesce: Sometimes the rupturing of the amniotic sac was accompanied by a rush of liquid, but sometimes it was merely a trickle…

"Oh my God," Rose exhaled.

She felt another spasm in her back. How long had it been since the last one? She pushed herself to her feet and walked slowly toward the living room. She sank down onto the couch as she reached for her cell phone. Her hand shook just a little when she punched in the numbers.

She heard the ringing and waited for her husband to answer. After six rings she got his voice mail.

With a degree of calmness she did not feel, she said, "It's me, Doctor. Come home as soon as you can. I think I'm in labor."

She set the phone on the cushion at her side. Why hadn't he picked up? He had his phone with him; she was certain of that. Maybe he couldn't hear it if he was out in the storm. Maybe he was already at Maggie's and had set the phone aside as he connected her IV. With a shake of her head at her lack of clear thinking, she keyed in the Atterburys' number.

She heard only an odd crackle then complete silence. She tried again with the same result. Her hand shook a little more when she retrieved the cordless phone. She began trembling in earnest when she realized that the phone was dead. The ice must have damaged the lines. She used her cell phone to try several numbers, but it seemed that all of Durryvale was without service.

In the small village, most people didn't have mobiles. She couldn't think of anyone she could contact who would be able to find the Doctor for her. Still, there was no need to panic. Her contractions were at least five minutes apart, which meant that she was still in the first stage of active labor. This would likely last at least six hours. The Doctor would be home well before she entered the second stage, when she would truly need his skill and support.

The best thing she could do right now was remain calm so that she could keep track of her body. She took several deep breaths then hugged a pillow to her belly. Maybe she should call her mum. She reached for her cell phone again but hesitated. It would be wise to check the weather, because knowing Jackie's less-than-calm disposition, she would probably insist that Pete send the helicopter immediately, and Rose wouldn't put it past her mother to pilot the damned thing herself.

Rose heaved herself up and walked slowly toward the Doctor's study. She switched on the computer and waited a few moments for the Internet to connect. The little tell-tale green light flickered then stuttered out. For a moment she wondered if the storm had affected the connection, but then she remembered that her husband had tinkered with the computer and linked it to a Torchwood satellite that provided infallible service in any and all conditions.

She checked the weather reports and found that the storm appeared parked over the Durryvale area. It was expected to remain for at least the next twelve hours. Warnings flashed about extremely hazardous road conditions and severe temperatures. She realized that there was a very real chance that the baby would be born right here.

Well, she could handle that. As long as the Doctor was at her side, everything would be all right. And he would certainly be home soon. He'd been gone nearly two hours now. Surely he was at Maggie's at the moment and would make the short trek across the street any minute. He might be coming up the walk even as she thought about the action.

She pushed herself up from the chair just as another contraction hit. This time she had the foresight to look at her watch and note that the contraction lasted 62 seconds. The time was 11:14. She wished she'd thought to attend to the time when the last contraction struck… It had been at least ten minutes, hadn't it?

Rose ambled down the hall and toward the door. The narrow side windows were completely frosted over. She wiped at the frigid glass with her hand, trying to clear a little peep hole. But it was no use; she could see nothing outside. All she knew was that arctic air lay beyond the door, and the Doctor would be out in it soon.

His body temperature had never quite stabilized to the 98.6 normal for a human. He seemed to run about a degree lower, and due to this he was somewhat less affected by the cold than she was. Still, she hated the thought of him trudging through the icy wind.

She turned away from the door. She felt chilled and decided to make some tea. At this point, waiting was the only thing she could rationally do. She was just stepping into the kitchen when another contraction gripped her. This one was powerful, and she had to lean against the wall to remain on her feet. Her hands clasped over her belly, but she forced herself to count the seconds required for the pain to subside. Sixty-one seconds was her estimate.

Finally she was able to check her watch. It was 11:17—three minutes since the previous contraction.

"No," she murmured, blinking at the tears flooding her eyes. That couldn't be right. She should still be in the first stage, with contractions about five minutes apart. She must have misread her watch the first time.

Wiping her eyes, she drew a steadying breath then entered the kitchen. She decided to forgo the tea in favor of sitting down for a few minutes. She closed her eyes and rubbed her hands gently over her abdomen.

And then another contraction hit. Her eyes flew open to stare mistily at her watch. It was barely 11:20. She didn't even realize she was shaking until the small numbers began to blur beyond recognition. She felt very cold as she waited for the pain to pass.

It did, finally, but when would the next round begin? If she had moved from stage one to stage two labor in the span of less than an hour, she was progressing alarmingly fast. She remembered reading that sometimes labor could be very quick, lasting only two or three hours from beginning to end, but that was somewhat rare for a first pregnancy. Leave it to the Doctor's daughter to orchestrate the most unusual of births… She smiled mirthlessly at the irony.

Rose was shivering now. She punched the Doctor's number into her mobile again, closing her eyes and willing him to answer. He did not.

"Doctor," she entreated, "please get home. I need you." She realized that her voice was shaking, but she couldn't help it.

She tried Maggie once more, but the phone lines were still down. The next contraction spasmed through her; two minutes and forty-nine seconds had elapsed since the previous one. At this rate, the baby would be born within the hour, possibly sooner.

Rose took several deep breaths and considered her options. She could wait here and hope that the Doctor returned very soon. But if he didn't—if he were stuck at his office or still at Maggie's— she would face delivering their child by herself. If anything went wrong, even something small, it could be disastrous. She cared little about herself, but she was determined that their daughter would arrive safely into the world. She couldn't risk ensuring that on her own.

Her other option was to walk the short distance to Maggie's house. In all likelihood, the Doctor was already there. Even if he weren't, Maggie would be able to help. She'd assisted in dozens of births over the years; she'd know what to do. Rose decided that the Atterburys were her best choice.

She gripped the edge of the table hard as she pulled herself to her feet. She walked slowly down the hall toward the door. It would be best to wait until just after the next contraction to brave the storm. She pulled on her heavy coat and, with almost idle motions, wrapped a thick woolen scarf over her head. She was attempting to nudge a boot onto her foot when the wave of tight pain washed through her again. Breathing heavily, she glanced at her watch: two minutes, forty seconds. She waited, noting that the contraction lasted seventy seconds, then, forgoing the boots, she opened the door.

She was already thoroughly chilled, but the blast of frigid air sent shudders through her. She felt her entire body shaking, almost as if she were convulsing while somehow remaining on her feet. Needles of ice struck at her face and hands before she managed to tug the scarf across her nose and mouth. She thrust her hands into her pockets then began plodding over the slick, frozen path toward the street.

She could see little, but she knew the route well enough. She moved her feet very carefully, gingerly negotiating the slippery ground. She tried to count her steps, too, judging the distance toward the curb. She'd just counted sixteen when a powerful contraction struck. This one doubled her over. Her hands reached out desperately for something to grip, some tangible item to give her support and help her wait out the pain. But there was nothing.

Groaning, she fell to her knees, slamming against the ice. She felt her legs slipping, but she couldn't control her movements. Her hand struck something hard, and she dimly realized that her pinky would hurt if her extremities weren't so numb. She was sinking down onto her side as she struggled with the waning pain in her abdomen. But that wouldn't do. She couldn't just lie here on the ice.

She could see her porch light as a hazy, soft glow through the sleety morass. With a moan of defeat, she realized that she had to go back; she had to get to the house, because there was no way that she could make it across the street. As she attempted to rise, she realized something else: She could not get to her feet. Between the residual pain, the numbness in her hands and legs, and the fear that she'd slip again and injure the baby, walking back to the house was not an option.

So Rose crawled, her knees and palms scraping against the thick ice. The journey seemed impossibly long, but in reality it must have taken her less than three minutes, because when the next contraction hit her, she was reaching up for the doorknob.

She fell into the foyer, giving the door a hard shove with her elbow. It shut, and she lay in the melting ice, panting from exertion and pain. She waited until the contraction eased, gathering her strength. She needed to get out of the hall, out of her cold, wet clothes, and into bed. That would be safer for the baby, better for the birth. Because she knew with infallible intuition that the blessed event was looming—not in hours, but in mere minutes.

**

_To be continued…_


	8. Chapter 8

Rose pushed herself up then sat with her back against the wall. She steadied her breathing, closing her eyes to focus. In, out; in, out; just like that. She could almost hear the Doctor's voice, guiding her gently, helping her to control the ragged breaths through calm instruction.

When the voice grew more insistent, she hesitantly opened her eyes. Cold air swirled over her as the Doctor shut the door firmly.

"Rose?" he asked, clearly surprised to see her huddled on the floor.

She looked up at him, too overcome with emotion to speak. Instead she lifted her hands in an attempt to gesture toward her belly.

Immediately he dropped to his knees beside her. Gripping her wrists, he quickly examined her hands. She lowered her gaze to see the raw, abraded palms. However, she had more important matters to attend to. She pulled her hands away weakly.

"Your phone," she croaked. "Tried to call—"

"What happened?" he asked. "Why did you go outside?" He brushed the tangled, damp hair away from her face, and his hand felt warm against her cheek.

"Called," she repeated. "You didn't answer."

"I lost my phone," he replied rather absently. "It must've fallen out. I tripped..." His eyes were moving over her, trying to determine what had motivated her to brave the storm.

She almost laughed aloud at the thought of the genius who could be so thick. It hadn't even occurred to him that she needed help, that she needed him.

"Rose. What's the matter?" He had cupped her cheeks in his hands and was looking deeply into her eyes.

She met his gaze, and her thoughts cleared. She took a small breath then said, "I'm in labor."

His eyes widened. "What?"

"Active labor," she clarified succinctly. "Contractions less than three minutes apart, lasting more than sixty seconds each."

His hands moved to press over her belly. "Are you sure?"

This time she did laugh in a short, barking burst. "Yeah, pretty hard to miss!"

"How long?"

"Started about an hour ago, I think. I had a couple of contractions, then my water broke—didn't realize it at first. Then the contractions started comin' faster, an' I couldn't reach you, an' I couldn't reach Maggie 'cause the phone lines are all down, an' I thought you were there, at her house, an' I didn't want anything to happen, didn't want to have to deliver her by myself—" It had all come out in a rush, and she gulped a breath.

"So you tried to get to Maggie's. Oh Rose, I wish you'd waited just a bit."

"I couldn't make it with all the ice," she said, her tone heavy with apology. "Had to come back."

Her hand clenched over her belly with the next contraction. His fingers spread over her, massaging softly. Rose shut her eyes to wait it out, vaguely aware of his other hand feeling for her pulse then moving to her chest to assess her respiration rate. When the pain receded, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

Quickly and efficiently, he stripped off her wet clothes and bundled her in a warm blanket. He hurried off to fetch his bag. She was still shivering from cold, exhaustion, and the after-effects of another contraction when he examined her. He offered a hasty apology and tucked the blanket around her securely again as soon as he'd finished.

"You're fully effaced and at nine centimeters. Looks like you're in transition," he reported.

Reaching for his hand, she said, "You made it in time."

"I should never have left you." His expression was clouded with regret.

"'S all right. You didn't know."

"Still—"

"You're here now."

He nodded and smiled gently. "I am. And she will be, too, in just a while. But I think we have a little time to make you more comfortable."

He uncovered her feet, one at a time, to rub each tenderly then ensheathe them in thick, cozy socks. As sensation began returning to her extremities, Rose became aware of the stinging in her palms and knees and the throbbing in her little finger. She studied the digit, testing it with a few small movements.

"Ow," she muttered.

He looked up at her, his brow furrowing in concern. "Another contraction?"

"Not yet. Fell on my hand when I went outside." She lowered her hand to the bed, thinking that this minor pain would be entirely forgettable in the grand scheme of things.

The Doctor found his soft flannel pyjama shirt and helped her into it then took her wrist. He felt about the bones in her hand and fingers gently, assessing her pinky carefully.

"Is it broken?" she asked.

"No, but it's going to be sore for a while. Looks like you struck it pretty hard."

She nodded. "The ice is so slippery."

"That it is." He sighed then kissed her forehead.

She knew he was thinking about her fall, and about the possible consequences. She supposed she'd been fortunate that she hadn't been badly hurt. Still, the spill had jolted her, and maybe it had jarred the baby, too…

Rose lay quietly while he dabbed antiseptic then a topical analgesic over her palms and knees. She was thankful for the numbing effects; with the next contraction she gripped his hand, hard. He wrapped her in his arms, holding her until the worst of the discomfort passed. Then he settled her on her side and slipped beneath the covers to curl his body around hers. One hand massaged her back with firm yet soothing strokes.

"How long d'you think it'll be now?" she asked.

"An hour, maybe less."

She reached for his hand then swallowed, needing to ask the next question but dreading the answer.

"Is she… is everything all right? I mean, it's happening so fast. Does that mean there's something wrong?"

"Everything looks fine," he reassured her, but his tone seemed a bit strained.

She was going to question him further, but another contraction twisted through her, delaying conversation. As soon as it subsided, the Doctor left the bed then hurried from the room, telling her he'd return shortly.

She remained lying on her side, her legs pulled up as far as she could manage. Her thoughts were racing; suddenly she recalled all of the terrible complications and problems she'd read about in his obstetrics texts. She trusted her husband completely—his professional skills were beyond question—but here, trapped in their house during a brutal ice storm, there would be little he could do if serious complications arose. What if she needed an emergency C-section? Could he perform the surgery? Did he even have the proper instruments? She might hemorrhage and require blood. And what if the baby needed oxygen or an incubator or those special lights used when neonates were jaundiced?

This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. She was supposed to deliver their child in a hospital brimming with equipment, medicine, technology, experienced nurses and other physicians who could assist if necessary. Here, it was just the two of them, and she was powerless to do more than push.

But she still had her resolve. That would remain no matter where she was. She was determined to see her child enter the world safely. She exhaled slowly then spoke.

"Promise me something," she said.

The Doctor was moving about at the foot of the bed. "Hmm? What's that?"

Her voice was firm, her decision made, as she told him, "If anything happens—if it comes down to a choice—you choose _her._ Deliver her safely, Doctor, no matter what."

**

_To be continued…_


	9. Chapter 9

**

The Doctor knelt beside Rose. "It won't come to that. Everything's going to be fine."

"I want that more than anything. But if something does happen, if there're any problems, you focus on her."

He stroked her cheek. "Sshh. Don't worry."

"Doctor, please, promise me!" she entreated, gripping his hand.

He nodded in slow acquiescence. Relieved, she permitted her eyes to close. Weariness washed over her.

"Hey, Rose, you still with me?"

The Doctor's gentle yet slightly urgent voice broke through the slowly enshrouding fog. She blinked up at him.

"Mmm. Yep, right here. Not goin' anywhere for a while."

He smiled thinly. "I'm going to shift you over a bit, all right?"

At her nod, he helped her to slide toward the edge of the bed. She could tell that he was moving the blankets, and her peripheral vision caught him spreading something—possibly clean towels—over the sheet. Then he turned away to hover near the foot of the bed. She heard some small noises but couldn't see what he was doing.

Rose waited for the pain to ebb after the next very strong contraction, but it seemed as though the event continued without full cessation. There was a new sensation, too.

"I feel like I should push," she told him.

He was already moving her. "Don't, at least not yet. Let's get you rolled over."

He helped her to change positions then checked her progress. As he did, her eyes moved over the room. She saw that he'd set out several covered trays. A stack of towels lay on the dresser, and a heating pad was plugged in near the cedar chest. He'd brought his office chair into the room and adjusted the height so that he could sit at the end of the bed comfortably.

Without looking up, he said, "It'll be time to push soon, but wait 'til I tell you to." Then he did lift his head to meet her eyes. "Can you do that, Rose?"

"Yeah, 'course." But with the pressure she was feeling, she realized that resisting the urge was going to take some willpower.

"Good girl. It won't be long now—probably just another three or four contractions, then you'll be ready to get to work."

"But everything's all right?" she asked. Somehow his mysterious trays didn't comfort her; instead, they left her anxious. Exactly what was he expecting? Was there something he wasn't telling her?

"Just fine."

"Then what's all this?" She lifted her hand to gesture toward the nearest tray.

"Just a few things that I'll need once she makes her grand appearance."

That made sense, of course. "Scissors an' stuff?" she confirmed.

"Yep." He did not elaborate.

"God," Rose groaned as the dull, extended contraction coalesced into a full-blown, forceful one. "I really wanna push."

"Not yet," he said, firmly yet calmly. "Deep breaths, love."

She drew a quick breath then exhaled.

"Let's do it together," he suggested. "In….hold it…now out. Good. In… out."

Changing her focus to her respiration seemed to help a little, but she still felt a strong urge to bear down. Her husband arranged several pillows at her back and helped her into a semi-sitting position, then he returned to his post.

She waited out four more contractions before she heard the singular yet much welcomed directive.

"Push," said the Doctor.

She did. Rose clenched her teeth and concentrated all of her efforts on the action.

"Again," he instructed.

She was breathing heavily, and she could feel sweat on her brow. But she pushed for all she was worth. And then she did it again, and again, and again. The Doctor continued speaking to her, murmuring encouraging words and compliments, but in her haze of intense effort and considerable pain Rose understood little of the actual content. Still, the sound of his voice helped her, guided her, and she remembered all of the incidents when the Time Lord had seen her through dangers and perils, monsters and menaces, and she wondered if he was thinking of that, too, and oh God, this was hard, and she was so, so tired, but his voice kept urging her… and then abruptly he stopped.

Rose took a sharp breath and lifted a shaking hand to brush the wet hair out of her face. She could see him clearly now. His expression was frozen, mouth slightly open, brow deeply furrowed, eyes squinting and glistening with tears.

"Doctor," she rasped softly. "What… what is it?"

"Rose, it's—" He lifted his head for a moment, and she could see the wet trails on his cheeks. He seemed unable to speak.

"What?" Her heart pounded against her ribs, making her chest ache deeply and leaving her even more light-headed and dizzy.

His voice shook with emotion as he said, "Look in the mirror, Rose." He shifted to the side slightly so that she could see her reflection, then he lowered his head again.

Panting, she thrust herself up on trembling, weak elbows and squinted at the mirror across from the bed. She forced her gaze to focus. At first all she could see was something that he was supporting in his left hand. And then his right hand moved and the image changed, and suddenly Rose realized that she was looking at her daughter's head.

"Oh!" she gasped.

"One more push," he said, blinking back his tears. He looked up at her with a poignant smile.

Rose pushed with all her might, and the Doctor's face broke into a joyful grin as he ushered their daughter into the world.

**

The next half hour was something of a blur for Rose. She was aware of the Doctor suctioning their daughter's nose and mouth then setting the tiny body upon the mattress. She saw him reach for his stethoscope and waited to hear their child's first cry.

For several long moments there was only silence, and then a faint gurgling cough turned into a small yet insistent wail. Rose smiled, one hand lifting instinctively to reach for her baby.

Her husband wiped the diminutive arms, legs, torso, and face with a soft flannel then set the infant upon Rose's chest. Her fingers caressed the damp hair as her eyes roamed over the little body. She saw five fingers on each hand and five toes on each foot. Her daughter's beautiful, tiny mouth opened and closed as she exercised her lungs in the new, dry environment. Rose cupped the small head in her palm.

The Doctor was beside them now, stroking his daughter's cheek with the tip of his finger.

"Is she all right?" Rose asked rather breathlessly.

"Her heart and lungs are functioning well, and she's pinking up nicely."

"She's so small. She's two weeks early—"

"Well, she must've been terribly eager to meet her mum." He kissed Rose's brow.

Then he got back to work. Rose ran her fingers over the baby's limbs while the Doctor cut the umbilical cord. After wrapping the infant in a blanket, he returned to the foot of the bed. Rose was only half-aware of his actions as he helped her deliver the afterbirth, checked that both she and the baby had come through the birth without significant aftereffects, and tidied up. She was too busy focusing upon her gorgeous little daughter to pay close attention to any of that.

Finally she was lying with her head against the Doctor's chest and his arms wrapped around her. One of his hands rested on the baby's crown, the other over the arm with which Rose cradled the small bundle. Both gazed down upon their daughter.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice soft against her ear.

"Tired, an' I suppose I'll be pretty sore later, but right now I hardly feel it."

He kissed her temple. "I"ll make sure it's not too bad."

Rose wasn't concerned about that. Instead, she asked, "Is she really okay?"

"She's fine. I think she'll be a plucky one, just like her mum."

"I've been thinkin' about the names we discussed. I'd like to call her Elaina."

"'Shining light.' That's a lovely thought, Rose."

"Is it all right?"

He smiled and whispered a long, melodic word that seemed to tickle her ear. She looked up at him.

"That's Gallifreyan for 'adoration,' right?" she asked.

"The final syllables sound a bit like Elaina, don't you think?"

"Shall we make that her real name then, her full name?"

"I'd like that. But it'll be just between us."

She nodded. "Yeah. But first you're gonna have to teach me how to pronounce it."

He chuckled softly. "I will. But right now, I think Elaina's ready for her first meal."

The baby was making small noises, her little lips pursed in request. "Looks like she's gonna have your appetite," Rose commented. "Your hair, too." A few tufts stood out already.

"And your kindness, and your humanity," he finished. His eyes were bright with tears again.

"_Our_ humanity," Rose corrected gently as she turned her head to rest her ear over his single human heart.

**

_To be concluded fully in the Epilogue…_


	10. Epilogue

The Doctor stood at the window. Beneath the steel grey sky, ice draped the trees in phantasmagoric shapes. The worst of the storm, however, had passed. Still, it would be another twelve hours until the roads could be cleared. For the moment, his entire world was inside this house.

He didn't mind one bit. He turned back to the room; it was impossible to keep his gaze away from his wife and child for long. Rose sat curled upon the couch nursing Elaina. A fire burned in the hearth, casting a warm glow over mother and child.

Rose remained a bit pale, but she'd come through the delivery well. He'd had his doubts at first. When he'd seen her crumpled in the hallway, pallid and shivering, fear had begun gnawing at him. When she'd told him that she was labor, it was all he could to stop himself from outright panic.

Falling back on science had been his only recourse. He'd needed to remain calm for Rose and the baby. He wondered now if some intangible echo through time and space had prompted him weeks ago to prepare for the event. He'd chided himself then that he was being fatalistic when he'd brought home the necessary supplies and secretly stashed them away. Then he'd reconsidered and decided that being fully prepared was the best way to stave off an emergency. None of that mattered now, of course; his reasons were merely conjecture. Suffice it to say, he was glad he'd given in to that urge and been prepared.

Even so, the speed with which Rose's labor progressed had frightened him. Most terrifying of all was the thought that, except for a small twist of fate, he might have reached her too late. Since the delivery two days ago, she'd been too preoccupied with the baby to notice the deep bruise on his sore shoulder. He'd fallen on the slick street midway between his office and the Atterburys' house, landing hard enough to damage his phone. He'd narrowly missed hitting his head on the thick layer of ice. Such a blow would easily have rendered him unconscious.

Even so, he'd been sufficiently shocked to lie there for a good two or three minutes before hauling himself up. By then he'd been thoroughly chilled, probably bordering on hypothermia. He'd trudged on to deliver the medication, but by the time he reached the house his extremities were numb. Maggie had taken one look at him and ordered him into the kitchen for hot tea and blankets.

He'd remained with the Atterburys for nearly an hour, stabilizing his core temperature and nursing his aching shoulder. He'd wasted precious time on himself… And Rose had paid the price. She'd had to endure the first stage of labor alone. She'd risked the freezing weather in an attempt to find help, knowing she could not deliver the baby by herself. He could barely stomach the thought of her crawling over the ice, wracked with pain yet determined to keep their child safe.

He'd worried about the effects of that experience on both Rose and the baby. She'd been so chilled when he got home, and her contractions were so close together; he'd been very frightened for his daughter's life, knowing that a still birth was a possibility.

It wasn't until he held his child's head in his hand that he felt the soft cadence of life pulsing through her. Still his own heart had not slowed its frantic rhythm until he'd heard the steady, strong thump beating in her tiny chest. She was small—five pounds, three ounces—but she was healthy and hungry and more alert than most babies.

Now, one tiny, perfect hand rested against Rose's breast. Elaina snuffled softly, drifting into contented sleep. Smiling gently, Rose shifted the little bundle in her arms then looked up.

"Wonder how long 'til she's hungry again?" she asked.

"Three hours and seventeen minutes, give or take," he replied. Naturally he'd begun calculating the mean time between feedings. He stoked the fire then sat down slowly, trying not to jostle the slumbering infant.

Rose rested her head on his shoulder. "Suppose I should call Mum again."

"She can wait. I told her you still need to rest. She understands."

She yawned. "Yeah. She's disappointed about the showers, though, an' about coming here straightaway."

When he'd called Jackie to tell her the news, she'd immediately stated that she'd be on the helicopter the moment the weather permitted it. This morning, however, she'd reported that Tony had a bad cold and it was possible that she was contagious, too. Reluctantly she'd agreed to wait a week to see her granddaughter. Rose and the Doctor still planned to spend Christmas in London, but they wouldn't arrive until Christmas Eve.

He was insistent on that point. Truth be told, he was hesitant for Elaina to travel while she was still so small, but with a few precautions and minimal contact with well-wishers once they arrived at the Tyler estate, he thought she'd be all right.

Although Rose was recovering well, she would still need extra rest and pampering. Fortunately Jackie would happily acquiesce to the latter. The former might take a bit more effort on his part.

For now, however, he had his wife and baby all to himself. He had one precious week to spend with his new family, and he planned to savor every moment of it. A part of him was still astonished at the depth of emotion he was capable of feeling. He had never experienced such intense fear or such brutal anxiety; he had never known such powerful love and absolute adulation.

The Doctor wished these for his daughter, too. He hoped that the human elements would be strongest in her, but he would not know that for some time. His DNA was only half human, and the Gallifreyan portion might prove prevalent. He would need to complete a few tests to confirm it, but he was fairly certain that her genetic make-up had already asserted itself in prompting her early birth.

However, Elaina had a very human mother who would teach her through both word and example to embrace those lovely, warm, silly, and sensitive parts of her being. And he would do his very best to impart his knowledge of humanity to her as well.

"Hey," Rose said softly, lifting her hand to caress his cheek. "What're you thinking about?"

He blinked then smiled down at Elaina. "Her. And you. And us." He bent to kiss his wife tenderly. "Thank you, Rose."

"I think you had a hand in it, too." She was referring to their daughter, of course.

"That's not what I meant," he replied almost timidly. "I mean, yes, thank you for her, of course."

"What'd you mean, then?" she asked gently.

"Thank you, Rose, for choosing me."

Her gazed moved to the sleeping infant then back up to meet his eyes. "You're welcome."

The fire crackled, flaring momentarily to bathe the room in warmth and light. Elaina stirred slightly then settled back to slumber, soothed by the quiet love radiating from her parents.

**

_Fin_


End file.
